Escaping Solitary
by hillabilla
Summary: Kurtofsky.  slash.  What happened, what will happen, and what it means.  Written from an omniscient point of view.  I mix in canon with what could happen, so spoilers galore!  Please read and review!  M for later chapters and heavy stuff.
1. Finally Acting

Dave Karofsky tended to just sit alone at home and play mind-numbing solitaire on his computer, thinking how perfect it was that solitaire sounded like solitary. Like being trapped in a room with no other human contact. In fact, for most of his life, he felt like he'd been in that room. The only thing that kept him from jumping off the deep end into eight feet of cold, hard depression was Lady Face. But he only called him names like that at school, with the real person in front of him, his friends watching like animals. When he was in Solitary, his imagination formed and exact image of Lady Face, and he called him Kurt, because that's what he liked to be called. In Solitary, where the rough-skinned puckheads couldn't interfere or project themselves, he didn't mind calling him Kurt, because he actually liked how it sounded on his lips, in his thoughts.

In Solitary, he heard the rumbles of voices, none clear enough or important enough, and he just moved around, ball and chain, waiting, waiting.

Now the difference between Karofsky's Solitary and solitary confinement was that he was able to mull around like he was going on with his life, unscathed; the stale recording of in, pretending to learn and out again was only punctuated by the white light appearance of Lady… of Kurt. In Solitary, Kurt's mirage always smiled. And like a hologram on repeat:

"Hi David. How are you? Look how strong you are. I want you more than anything."

The Kurt that he fabricated to haunt his Solitary always called him David, because that's what he wanted to be called. And every time he heard Kurt speaking in his lonely world of walls and little else, sunlight broke through some old, blacked out window, and for a few seconds he felt happiness.

And more than anything, Karofsky wanted to touch Kurt, but this holographic representation wasn't tangible. It was impossible. He knew the only way it would work was if he could touch the real thing. It was unacceptable.

So he started picking on Kurt, teasing him more than usual, hoping he'd get the hint. He also started to shove the smaller boy around, into lockers, walls, it didn't matter, just so he could have a brief moment of contact. Karofsky knew what it meant at this school to be gay; he'd watched Kurt get beat up mercilessly by others, pretty up close and personal. He also knew he was a clumsy fool and had a body too big to be careful, so even though he tried to push Kurt gently, to try to show him his inner workings, his shoves were too hard and perceived as violent. With his stupid friends laughing and high-fiving him, he had dug himself a hole and now he had to stand in it.

Stupid, stupid. It frustrated him that Kurt wasn't trapped in Solitary. If they could both get out, maybe they could fight the onslaught together, if Kurt would even give him the time of day. But that would mean he would have to leave Solitary and actually face the world as his true self.

So Karofsky tried to bring others into his Solitary instead, to fill the void. He brought in girls that meant nothing to him, churned nothing in him. These girls, they moaned in ecstasy while he got hard thinking of Kurt in sailor suits, pink cheeks and lips and clear eyes and hair left slightly messed from a push into a wall; while he got shivers thinking of Kurt being just who he wanted to be, fighting back the world that crushed against him; while he reached orgasm, Kurt's name just behind his lips but never letting go, thinking of Kurt just brushing his hand across his skin. And while he shuddered and rested his sweating body back down on the mattress, he felt guilty, and he wished, imagined that it was Kurt saying how amazing he was, how hot he was, how it was the best moment of his life.

There were nights when his father was too drunk and asleep to beat on him and his mother was at her sister's house that Karofsky let himself slip into Solitary to cry a while, and when the tears had all dried up, he'd touch himself while thinking of Kurt cooing in his ear. He imagined that it was Kurt touching him, bringing him to the surface of the water just so he could take a breath. And there, in Solitary, he'd reach the most shattering orgasm of his life just thinking of that smile that was never for him, and wondering how long he'd been in love with Kurt Hummel as he wiped tears from his eyelashes.

And one day, when Azimio wasn't with him, he kept pushing Kurt and pushing him until he snapped, and a part of him wanted to, because maybe if Kurt hated him enough, he could fall out of love with him. Maybe if Kurt got angry enough, he'd break him and he'd be able to get on with his life, kept perfectly pressed between the walls of Solitary. The only problem was that it didn't work out as planned, because once Karofsky saw Kurt so angry, so close to his face, he took a chance and he cupped Kurt's face like a butterfly he didn't want to crush or let go, and he kissed him.

All of his frustration, lust, need, love—oh, damn it all, love—was bottlenecked into one kiss, the first kiss that Karofsky had ever had that meant something. And it should have been perfect.

But Kurt stood there, looking wounded, and pushed him away when he tried again, and it was nothing like he'd imagined. In fact, it was the opposite, horrifying, and watching Kurt look so terrified, he felt something break inside of him as rejection rolled over in waves. Instead of opening the door to Solitary, the whole complex had been fortified. He lashed out, replacing his whimpers of need with cries of frustration, and he rushed out on Kurt, leaving him alone with what had happened.


	2. Shame and Other Ideas

Karofsky couldn't believe that after watching the man of his dreams and fantasies reject him that he could still be in love with him, and his body quivered and broke out in a cold sweat that evening when he was alone.

He was alone.

The day after the incident, he saw Kurt coming toward him with some boy, just some kid walking behind him loyally, and he thought that he must be Kurt's boyfriend. That must be the reason he didn't want him; he already had someone better, which immediately hardened his heart and turned his face to iron. He looked away, made some harsh remarks, and made to push past, but the two of them blockaded him in a corner of the stairwell, and then proceeded to practically out him in front of all the passersby without any regard for his sanity, his self, his Solitary. He couldn't believe that Kurt would do something like that, something much more hurtful and dangerous than anything he'd ever put the smaller boy through. Sure, he called him names and shoved him, but he'd never made his friends hate him with a word, and if his friends had been around, Karofsky would have been shunned and sacrificed.

And still, after that, after jogging off coldly only to cry his heart out in the empty locker room's bathroom for all of 6th period, he still wanted Kurt more than anything. He felt that perhaps this was his judgment. If he could withstand this torment, this onslaught of emotions… perhaps he could withstand anything.

No one caught him crying, but later, after he'd found his resolve and left the bathroom, he made sure to avoid Kurt for the rest of the day and the rest of the week. He only had one heart to break, and if it was broken too many times or all at once, hell, it may never be the same again.

A week later, Karofsky found himself hiding behind an artwork display statue and watching Kurt walk into Glee Club. There, thinking of Glee, he thought of a way to make Kurt see that he was somebody, and maybe, just maybe, give him a chance to prove it.

He immediately drove home and got to work.


	3. Facing Fire and Getting Burned Again

Karofsky noted that for the first time since second grade, he was feeling really shy, uncomfortable, scared. He held two pieces of printed computer lyrics in his hand, folded twice, his sweat causing the creases to mash up a bit.

He was standing outside, behind the statue from the day before, waiting for Glee to let out. He heard them singing a song he'd heard on the radio, that one by One Republic that he liked because of the cello and violin. Not that he'd say that to anyone. It was Finn singing, he could tell, and then, at the chorus, he heard Kurt pick it up, his voice high and angelic, strung along by the piano and the after school band.

The song ended, and he heard Mr. Schuester tell the kids to have a good weekend. Dave Karofsky pulled himself as far behind the artwork as he could, trying to blend in, and when he was wearing his jersey, it wasn't so hard. He watched everyone file out and saw Mr. Schue turn around and say "be sure to hit the lights on your way out, Kurt."

"Okay, thanks." Mr. Schue was gone then, and could it be so easy that Kurt was by himself? Karofsky slid over to the far door and peered in to see Kurt standing, facing away from him, arms to the side, breathing deeply through his nose. He didn't know what was going on, but he stayed outside, quiet, looking around the hall for any stray eyes that may come across him playing the voyeur.

Kurt began to sing:

"Do you ever feel like a plastic bag  
Drifting through the wind  
Wanting to start again?  
Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin  
Like a house of cards  
One blow from caving in?  
Do you ever feel already buried deep  
Six feet under scream  
But no one seems to hear a thing…"

Karofsky loved to listen to him, his voice so elegant and charming and beautiful. He couldn't believe he ever let himself hurt him.

Kurt kept singing, and when his song came to an end, his arms dropped to his sides while he did his deep breathing once again.

It was now or never. Karofsky opened the door, which squeaked slightly and gave away his position, causing him to flinch slightly. He looked up and saw Kurt looking at him, startled at his sudden appearance, perhaps worried by being alone with the taller boy.

"What do you want?" Kurt asked, a hint of sass and a pinch of fear lacing his words together.

Put in the spotlight, Karofsky suddenly realized that this wasn't his safe, comfortable Solitary. He was standing in front of the boy he loved, but who couldn't stand him. Quite rightly, he knew, but he had to try.

"I…"

"Come on, spit it out, Karofsky, I haven't all day."

He felt his ears and cheeks getting red. He wouldn't lose it. "Can you just stop it?"

Kurt, obviously surprised to hear the taller man say that, didn't respond.

Karofsky cleared his throat. "I… want to… sing you a song."

Kurt stood, shocked, and then laughed harshly. "You want to sing me a song? Really now. Not only can you crush a walnut with your Neanderthal skull, but you can sing, too?"

"I took voice lessons in middle school, why do you have to be so judgmental?

"Oh, I'm the judgmental one! I don't ever throw you into walls for being a behemoth and a moron or for being a prejudiced and sweaty nobody, and you think I care about what you do?"

"Can you just shut up for a second!" he tried to reason, but he was ready to give up. He turned tail and pushed his way out of the choir room and ran to his car. He dropped the folded papers somewhere, but really didn't care anymore. As the engine roared to life, he fought the tears that plagued him and drove home alone, alone.


	4. An Extended Hand

Karofsky had spent the whole weekend in Solitary, playing solitaire on his laptop, still falling into mad and senseless love with Kurt, even though it felt like it was killing him. He thought that maybe that was why love was compared to death in so many of the songs he listened to. His judgment, so painful, weighed on him with great burden, and he wondered why he bothered.

Then Monday came, and he went and spent 6th period in the empty locker room again, knowing no one cared where he was or why. He sat there, picking a piece of string on the inner lining of his letterman, when he heard the door swing open.

There were so many words that described how he was feeling when he saw Kurt Hummel standing in front of him, looking towering with all that confidence next to this withered man. Apart from confidence, Kurt had a look on his face that wasn't hate, but wasn't that friendly, either. His hand was held out toward the taller, cowering boy, and in it were the folded sheets of paper he'd lost on Friday.

"I believe you dropped these," Kurt said flatly, a feeling of annoyance woven in.

Karofsky, the Solitary man, held his hand out and grabbed the corners of the paper gingerly. Kurt let go of the pages, but didn't make a motion to leave. The papers fell limp in the jock's hand, and he set it down on the bench. "Thanks," he said, looking away.

Kurt stood his ground, and there was a bit of a shiver in his voice when he said "Can I hear you sing?"

Head down, the taller boy shrugged as he said, "I'm not very good…"

"So?"

Karofsky didn't know why Kurt wanted to hear it. Maybe just to make fun of him. But he had practiced so long with the song that he felt he must. He wanted to, and regardless of Kurt's intentions, he decided to do it. He shuffled and then stood, and motioned for Kurt to sit down. Kurt made a look of disgust as he looked at the bench. Karofsky took off his letterman jacket and placed it on the bench. This time, Kurt's disgust wasn't overpowering, and he, with great hesitation, sat down gently on the taller boy's jacket, crossing his legs and folding his hands, his eyes empty of any specific emotion.

Karofsky coughed, cleared his throat once more, felt himself blushing all over, and began to sing.

"I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing."

He took a deep breath, rubbing a nervous hand through his hair as his deep voice toyed with this higher pitched song.

"Just prayed to a God that I don't believe in."

Or rather, a God who didn't believe in him, he felt, a God who punished the homosexual population with eternal damnation like his father told him.

"'Cause I got time while you got freedom

'Cause when a heart breaks, no it don't breakeven.

Your best days will be some of my worst

You finally met a man that's gonna put you first…"

Yes, he'd found some other boy to run to, someone who was man enough to stand up and be proud, something he couldn't do.

"While I'm wide awake you've no trouble sleeping

'Cause when a heart breaks, no it don't breakeven.

What am I supposed to do

When the best part of me was always you

What am I supposed to say

When I'm all choked up and you're okay

I'm falling to pieces…

I'm falling to pieces."

Karofsky looked up at Kurt, whose eyes weren't empty, but were hardly readable. He continued, his hands shaking.

"They say bad things happen for a reason…"

And he wondered what reason there was for having a bigoted and abusive father, wondered if this was another of God's tests for him, or was a warning of the hell to come.

"But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding…"

Karofsky felt a tear on his cheek and wiped it away quickly.

"'Cause you've moved on while I'm still grieving

And when a heart breaks, no it don't breakeven.

What am I supposed to do

When the best part of me was always you

What am I supposed to say

When I'm all choked up and you're okay…"

And this time, when he sang, he heard Kurt singing softly along with him.

"I'm falling to pieces…"

Karofsky couldn't go on anymore. He stopped singing and tried to compose himself, to keep intact that Solitary fortress he'd been building all his life. After rubbing his eye, he turned to Kurt, tryig to gauge the reaction.

What he saw was surprising. Kurt had a twinge of a smile brewing at the corner of his lips. Kurt stood, and finally spoke.

"You bullied me for years."

"Yeah."

"Because?"

"Because… I…"

"Yeah?"

"I… like you."

Kurt's cheeks harbored seas of pink ocean for a moment, and his eyes gave away the truth that he was flattered, at least somewhat.

Kurt covered his mouth and coughed slightly before continuing.

"I can't forget that hell you put me through."

Karofsky hung his head, mad, worried, ready for another tidal wave of rejection.

"But I think, if we can give it some time, that I could at least forgive you."

Karofsky's head snapped up. "You don't have to do that. You shouldn't, probably. I was pretty horrible, and just because you're a good guy doesn't mean you should forgive me."

Kurt smiled a little, then. "I'm not exactly the nicest person, either, and I don't forgive lightly. You have to earn it, and I fully expect you to. Until you fully have my trust, however, maybe… " he shifted slightly, as if trying to pick the right words. "Maybe we can hang out. As friends. You should talk to someone, and it might as well be me. No judgments on this end, scout's honor. I know how hard it can be."

Karofsky couldn't remember ever being so relieved. After all that, you would help me?"

"I told you, I fully expect you to make it up to me." With that, Kurt turned and headed toward the door. Just before he disappeared, he turned and said, "I'm now officially your "French tutor". That's what you can tell people, okay?"

Karofsky smiled and nodded. He wasn't particularly poor at French, but he appreciated that Kurt was there for him. It gave him hope yet. "Merci," her said, watching Kurt give a faint wave as he left.


	5. Lockers and Closets

"Hummel!"

Karofsky stormed down the halls of McKinley High, and when he caught sight of his daydream, he bellowed out his name, sounding as harsh as usual. However, with what had happened, they both knew the truth behind it. He came up to Kurt and shoved him as gently as he possibly could, and to his surprise, Kurt threw himself back when he did it, throwing himself into his own locker. Karofsky wanted to laugh, to mention that it was a good idea, but how could he? Not now, at least, not yet.

He shoved a heavy book into Kurt's stomach, not touching him, but making it look like he'd used full force, something he'd never done, but had implied. It was a French textbook.

"You're going to do my French homework," he practically snarled at the slighter boy.

There were a few eyes turned their way, but nobody was doing anything, nobody ever really did. All for the better. What quicker way to gain their attention than by acting calm?

"Oh yeah? And what if I don't?" Kurt was playing right back, and a smile was caught in his eyes.

This little act had been going on for two weeks now. The first time it had happened, Kurt had expressed that he thought everything had gone back to being bad, but Karofsky had tucked a folded piece of paper in the book so it stuck out and caught Kurt's attention. All it said was LOCKER ROOM in capital letters in quickly scrawled black pen.

Karofsky had immediately gone to the locker room, hoping against hope that Kurt would get and accept the note. He was pleased and relieved when Kurt pushed his way into the locker room, a curious look on his face.

The same situation was going on now, and after their mock fight in the hallway, they made their way, separately of course, to the locker room.

"You're getting scarily good at this," Karofsky said to Kurt as he came into the room. No one had walked in on them yet, and it seemed like the locker room actually was the best way for them to meet up.

"I learned it all from you, David."

Karofsky stopped at that, noting immediately that Kurt had used his name, his first name, just like he had always imagined.

"Is it okay if I call you David? I mean, normally I hear people call you by your last name or Dave, but I like how David sounds."

"Yeah, that's fine." Karofsky was blushing, when had that happened?

So now they were sitting on the cold concrete floor of the locker room, backs against a row of lockers, books opened in front of them but not really used. There were for appearance's sake; if someone walked in, they wouldn't think it as weird as if they were just talking. They were just talking, that was the thing. The first two weeks of talking mostly was "how are things" and "are you okay?" because Karofsky was having trouble opening up. He felt different this time, however, and started the conversation.

"When did you know you were gay?"

Kurt looked shocked, but then softened his features, drew up his knees, and smiled. "I was three when my Dad figured it out, but I figured it out for myself, for sure, when I was thirteen. I guess I knew before, but until you feel sexual want—" he blushed at this –"until then, it's hard to be sure, I mean, for me anyway. How about you?"

Karofsky nodded, thinking about what he'd been told, how it applied to him, thinking about when he knew. "I guess it was about then, too, for certain. I was in the locker room before gym and I "accidentally" took a glance at some kid's junk. I hear that's normal for straight guys too. Except me, like you said, it was the attraction, the need, or whatever. It just, I don't know, took over."

Then Kurt jumped in out of the blue. "And when did you start to like me?"

Karofsky blushed again, turning away before saying something quietly.

Kurt leaned in a bit. "What was that?"

"The same day."

"As the gym thing? Okay…"

"It was you."

"What?"

"It was you," Karofsky repeated, trying to relay the message by sight, now looking Kurt right in the eyes.

"It was me wha… OH MY GOD are you telling me you were looking at my… at me? In the gym? When we were thirteen? You've seen me naked? David!"

Karofsky thought he was mad, but then Kurt burst out laughing.

"I guess I should be flattered," he said between breaths. "And I must say, that makes me a little more comfortable."

Karofsky turned so quickly it hurt his neck. "MORE comfortable?"

"Yeah," Kurt continued. "Since you've seen me nude already, that won't sneak up on us in conversation." He was still laughing, and Karofsky joined in, even though he wasn't quite sure what Kurt was talking about.

And it came out of the blue when Kurt reached over and squeezed his hand for just a second. He thought his heart might stop, in fact, it might have.

Kurt stood then, brushing himself off and gathering his books. "Until next time, then?"

Karofsky stood and nodded, cleaning up his stuff, knowing he had to wait a few minutes after Kurt left as to not raise suspicions. "Until next time." He put out his right hand, as if to shake Kurt's hand, because he wasn't sure what to do with himself, his mind choking on that brief contact of smooth skin and wanting more.

Kurt, instead of shaking his hand, reached out his left, and held Karofsky's hand in his for a few seconds. Karofsky didn't know what he should do, so he gently closed his fingers on Kurts, not tightly, barely brushing, and his head started to swim.

Kurt gave him a small smile and said, "You've come a long way, you know." With that small sentence, he was gone, leaving Karofsky standing there, pinching himself, and nearly crying when he realized that it had really happened.


	6. 99 Percent Chance of Rain

Kurt asked Dave to come over, and Dave wasn't sure if he would physically be able to convince himself that it would alright. Kurt told him it would be less likely for someone to stumble upon them. Dave countered with the likelihood of Finn stumbling upon them. Kurt told him that Finn had an after school job at the Pay'N'Go Convenience to pay for gas money. Finally, Dave said okay.

And who knew the larger boy would be able to find the key to the hidden door that would lead him out of Solitary? Who knew he'd be willing to risk everything for someone? Was this love? What a scary thought, that he may really be in love…

Dave pulled his green car into park discreetly, two blocks away from Kurt's house. After looking around for any curious eyes, he picked up his backpack from the passenger seat and slinked as quickly as possible down the street to Kurt's front door. He went fairly confidently to the front door, because he'd been informed that Mr. Hummel was at the shop, so no one would be home.

He knocked once, and before he knocked again, Kurt answered, wearing a black button up wool jacket over skinny jeans. He was wearing black socks, and at Kurt's request, Dave removed his shoes and put them off to the side of the front door.

"How's it going?" Kurt asked, one hand still holding the door.

"Eh."

"Very poignant, David."

"Oh, whatever," Dave replied, but he smiled, and Kurt moved aside to allow him to enter.

It was the first time Dave had been in Kurt's home, or even that nearby, and it was intimidating. Here he was, the man made of rock, the king of Solitary, frightened. Maybe that was just. He spent his nights dreaming of Kurt and then dreaming of God striking him down for his vile thoughts, cursed to an eternity where he was ripped in half over and over until nothing was left of him. Perhaps his fright now was just cast over from the evening before.

Kurt was leading the way through the living room and kitchen in some sort of pseudo-tour, and then headed down to his room in the basement.

Dave told himself he hated the décor of the room, that it was girly and flamboyant and comfortable and actually not that bad. The colors of the throw pillows looked warm against the cool porcelain of Kurt's skin, and Dave had trouble looking away.

Kurt had said something.

"What?"

"I said have a seat, you needn't stand there all 'statue-of-David'."

Dave was confused. "You have a statue of me?"

Kurt's brow faltered and he continued patiently. "No, that's weird. It's a statue done by Michelangelo—"

"Isn't he the guy who built the sixteenth chapel?" Dave interrupted, feeling smart; he felt smart, that is, before Kurt corrected him, saying it was that he had painted the Sistine Chapel, but he was pretty close so he still got brownie points. "I normally get this stuff, I'm just not really good at art, you know? Ask me any year for any war and I'll tell you what happened."

"I believe it," Kurt chuckled lightly. He patted to the couch, and Dave remembered that he'd been asked to sit.

"Thanks for having me over, Kurt."

"Thank you for calling me Kurt. I appreciate it. And, hey, do you play cards?"

"Yeah, I do, I love playing cards."

Dave pulled his feet up and sat sideways, facing Kurt, who sat in a similar position. They played many games, from Rummy to War to five draw poker, laughing and enjoying themselves over their brief contact. That went on for some time before Kurt's pocket rang, and he pulled out his cell phone. He glanced at it, smiled, hit a button and placed it next to him on the sofa.

"Who was that?" Dave asked, suddenly jealous, confused.

"Just Blaine. Whose turn is it?"

The game forgotten, David's face contorted in confusion and anger.

"Just Blaine? What does that mean? What did he want?"

"Nothing, just asking about tomorrow. Why don't we get back t the game?"

"No! Are you going out with him?"

"Yes, David, we're going to see a movie tomorrow, why are you so angry?"

"I thought we were dating!"

Kurt's face twisted and turned into shock before he let out a small laugh. "What? What gave you that idea?"

David felt like his heart was going to burn out of his chest. "You holding my hand, inviting me over…"

"I told you I'm trying to support you, to be here when you need me, to hang out. As friends. I remember saying that."

"But I thought since we'd been hanging out…" David clenched his fists and flinched slightly when he saw Kurt lean away. "Is Blaine your boyfriend?"

"I don't think it's any of your business, but we've dated, if that's what you want to know."

"I can't believe this!"

"No, I can't believe you, Karofsky! You don't own any part of me, least of all my heart!"

Before David could react to Kurt calling him by his last name or react t the harsh remark that followed, they both heard the front door slam open and then shut again. The two froze, their argument stuck in an ice age.

"Hey Kurt, Mercedes stopped by to drop off this sweater at the store…" Finn started as he came down the stairs, but stopped when he saw Kurt and Dave playing cards. "What the hell is this?"

Kurt broke from the ice first. "I was helping Karofsky with his French homework. We're just taking a break." Dave saw Kurt's face burst into rouge and twitch and Finn had to be an idiot to fall for that.

"Oh. I thought you were acing French, Karofsky."

Dave shook to life. "Only because Kurt's been helping me."

The two boys on the couch were hardly moving, both staring at the boy on the stairwell. He looked as though he were about to leave, but then turned back.

"That's all that's going on?"

Dave knew he could lie and get away with it—Finn was pretty stupid too. But suddenly David felt like a prayer was being answered. He had prayed to God every night for bravery, and here he was, in a position to be brave.

"Kurt's helping me through some personal things."

Finn looked really surprised at this. "Like what?"

"Finn, it's not really any of your business—" Kurt started, but Dave continued.

"I'm gay."

The room stopped for what felt like hours, but may have only been about five seconds, before Finn ran up the stairs and away.

Suddenly the gravity of the situation hit him, and he knew that he was done. Finn would tell his girlfriend and then the whole school would know and that would be it. He looked at Kurt, and in his eyes he could see his anger brimming, with something else mixed in, but all Dave could recognize was anger, like he saw in his father's eyes all the time. He ran up the stairs, grabbed his shoes and took off to his car, never looking back into the eyes that burned.


	7. Biting the Hand

(I know it's sad, but stay with me on this… it's called escaping solitary. Things will eventually look up if you can find it in your heart to stick with me.)

At school, Dave hoped that he would find Kurt and discover that all was okay between them. Instead of finding him all smiles for Dave, he saw Kurt smiling and chatting with Finn, and that could not be happening.

They must be talking about him. Finn knows. He knows and everyone knows.

He walked up behind Kurt and waited for him to turn at his locker after Finn left. Kurt turned quickly and almost ran into him; almost. But what Dave saw in Kurt's eyes was still the anger from that night when he admitted to dating Blaine. Dave was having trouble, now, for all of his thoughts were soaked in the prickly brine that kept them sour for a long time.

Kurt hated him.

He knew it. Especially when he told Dave that he didn't want him anywhere near him.

Dave felt like an orange after it met its juicer. All that he was going to say to try and patch up the problems, all of it had been sapped away.

He looked down and saw that Kurt was holding a wedding cake ornament, for reasons he couldn't fathom, and suddenly he wished he had been more attentive of Kurt's life. Dave reached out a finger, intending to touch Kurt's cheek, but instead poked his chest. Not to be deterred, he trailed his finger down his chest slightly. Kurt reacted like he did that first day in the locker room, with shock and fear. Dave felt the foundation of his heart crumble like a tenement with termites.

Dave reached out and took the cake topper.

"Can I have this?"

Kurt didn't respond. He looked like he may cry, which made Dave hate himself.

He walked away after an attempted smile, putting the ornament in his pocket before disappearing down the hall, cherishing it.

It seemed like no time had passed before his father was called to the school, his father who could feign sobriety long enough to side with Kurt before he even knew the facts. His father who had the nerve to say that Dave had been acting out violently at home just because he stood up to his father once in a while.

Dave became increasingly worried when they asked Kurt what had happened. Kurt didn't mention that they had been hanging out, but dredged "he threatened to kill me" out of nowhere. That had happened, yes, and Dave regretted it, but Kurt had already said he knew he didn't mean it. However, he guessed he'd rather be seen as a homicidal teenager than as a gay one, and if this meant his dad would smack him around less later, maybe it was for the best.

But then they asked Kurt why he had threatened to kill him, and the fear was back. Kurt knew he could get away with coming clean now.

To Dave's surprise, he didn't out him, and he was relieved, though he didn't show it very well.

When he was expelled, he couldn't believe it. He was furious, until his mother and father made some calls. When he came back to the school, he found out that Kurt had transferred to Dalton, and he stumbled home in a fog.

He found his father waiting for him, angry.

"What the hell is this, Davy?"

He was holding the cake topper.

"You planning on getting married, huh?"

"No."

"Then why do you have this?"

Dave didn't know what to say, so he just said the truth… sort of.

"Kurt gave it to me."

"What? The gay kid? You hanging out with the homos now? Is that it?"

"No, Dad, I—"

"What, are you a homo now too, is that it?"

Dave knew he could fight this if he had the strength. His father had no proof. He frequently asked this, and it wasn't until lately that Dave had realized the depth of the question, and just how true the assumption was. So he did a brave thing, something he never imagined he'd be able to do.

"I've always been a homo, Dad."

Then he was on the floor, nursing his quickly swelling cheek.

"Get the fuck out of my house."

Dave picked himself up and ran out of the house, tears running into the blood from his mouth.


	8. Cold

It was dark, and he had trouble seeing. That's what he told people.

And in fact, it was dark and the swollen cheek turned out to be a swollen eye as well, impeding him, if only slightly. He drove his green car through the state reserve, watching how the moon caught on the river to his left as his car sped ever faster around the turns.

Kurt had rejected him again. His father had rejected him. And as far as his prayers went, it felt like God was rejecting him too.

Dave hadn't turned on the heat, though his fingers were numb and looked blue on the steering wheel. He hadn't turned on the stereo, even though some Frank Sinatra might cool his burning cheek and boiling blood. And he hadn't turned his headlights on.

He had decided, after driving around alone for several hours, that he could see a future where his car sat on the bottom of that moon-cold river. He could see a future where he spent his last few breaths as a sinner in that car under the water.

He aimed his car toward the river and closed his eyes, waiting for the splash.

It never came.

What he did hear, and then see, was a tree that had taken a bite out of the front right fender of his car. He had run into it on the way to the river. His car was spinning around the tree, slipping violently in the river mud, pin-balling between trees before it came to a hard stop against a large oak.

Dave had hit his head off the steering wheel. He felt sticky and warm liquid coursing between his eyes and around his nose. He made to reach up and touch the wound, but his left hand screamed in pain. The wrist was in bad shape; it appeared that it was broken, along with at least two of the fingers on the adjacent hand. His neck hurt, his back hurt, his heart hurt, and the world spun around a few times before it turned to pitch.


	9. In a Heartbeat

Dave Karofsky had mixed feelings about hospitals. He had last seen his grandmother in a hospital before his mother told him that she had gone to heaven. That had always upset him, because he couldn't believe she'd leave forever and not say goodbye to him. But he had also seen his cousin Caleb a few days after he was born. He came there to get painful stitches from some hockey roughhousing, but also got a lollipop for being a big boy.

It was situational, and this situation was bad.

It was coming back to him all at once: the tree, the messed up suicide. He saw his wrist had been casted, and it was such an immaculate white that he turned away from it.

It hadn't been signed. No one had come to see him.

The nurses and doctors all gave him pitied looks. They told him he'd been there for a few hours, and that he had broken his lower arm, wrist and last two fingers of his left hand. They had did their best to set them, but said they weren't sure how the injury would affect his day-to-day life for a week or so.

Every eye on him was brimming with pity. It was a sour pity; it tasted old and uncomfortable in his belly each time he tried to stomach it.

It felt like they had to care, but didn't want to.

A cop had come to speak with them, and they discovered that he had done this on purpose. There were no tread marks to prove that he had tried to stop the crash. His headlights were off. He hadn't worn a seatbelt. And now that they knew that, they stared at him like he was the biggest loser of all time. Like he had no reason to take his own life. They didn't know anything.

There was a knock on the door, and the nurse who was taking his blood pressure went over. There was some quick back-and-forth before the nurse came back to Dave's side.

"It isn't visiting hours, but you have a visitor, and we agree that you should see someone you know right now. Is that okay?"

Dave wanted to say no, but he was lonely. He hoped it wasn't his father.

It wasn't. After he gave the okay, he was surprised to see Kurt standing in the doorway.

Dave looked away, ashamed of himself. He couldn't bear to see pity in Kurt's eyes, not after everything. But he made himself look at his dream, and couldn't register immediately that Kurt looked pissed off.

He's still mad?

Kurt came over to the bed, his eyes frigid.

"Kurt, listen," Dave started, "I'm sorry about—" before he could mention Blaine, Kurt interrupted.

"You should be sorry! How could you do something as stupid as this?"

Wait, Kurt was yelling about the crash?

"What were you thinking? That you could just give up? After everything that we talked about, this is what you think is right?"

"What?"

"Don't you 'what' me like you don't know. I'm with my father at his shop when your car is towed in, all beat up, and all I could think was that you were dead. Do you know what that did to me? Do you?"

"No…"

"No, that's right, you don't. After all we have together, you think you can just bail on me?"

Dave was confused and having trouble keeping up. His head hurt, his arm hurt, but his heart didn't anymore. Kurt didn't pity him. Kurt was angry that he had given up, and that was hardly the same thing. It made Dave's heart swell, and then his eyes began to well up.

"Stop yelling at me! You don't know—"

"Yes I do! I know! How can you say that! You don't know what I've been through, but you can trust that I'm willing to stick it out. You should be too."

And while Dave felt ashamed and worse about the situation, he also felt loved. And maybe Kurt knew that tough love was the only way to get through to him.

Dave's cheeks were wet. He was crying, and it felt so good to cry. He closed his eyes and let the tears stream as the sobs rattled his bones. And then arms swooped around his neck and held him close.

"Don't ever do something like that again," came a whisper in his ear, and he wrapped his one good arm around Kurt and held him tightly as he cried and cried.

They stayed like that until Dave had cried every tear out, and then Kurt lay Dave back down on his bed. Kurt pulled a chair near the bed and kissed Dave's cheek before sitting next to him, their hands woven together.

Dave fell asleep and had dreams about the moon.


	10. Cast System

When Dave woke up, Kurt was gone. The room felt pasty and cold. His cast felt heavy, his head felt numb. He felt hungry. He felt a lot of things, but most of all, he felt lonely. Whatever small connection he had with Kurt that evening had dissipated, leaving room for pain to fill the gaps.

But something was different this time. This loneliness, it wasn't like how he'd felt just before he crashed his car. This was more like a wakeup call.

All the time he had been lashing out, making people hate him because he felt like he deserved to be hated. Well, apart from Kurt, but that was a different situation. Looking back, he realized that people didn't fear him because they respected him. They feared him because he was scary. He was mean. He was intimidating. He was scared. He's sorry. He's so sorry…

Dave knew it was time to recalculate his life. He wasn't sure if it had anything to do with nearly dying—hell, it probably did, but who cares? This was a second chance. And yes, it sucked that Kurt was at Dalton, probably becoming a star right at that moment, but Dave knew he had to do right by himself before he could do right by others. And he had to do right by others so he could do right by Kurt.

He sat up, remembering the haunt of a kiss that had graced him when he was crying before. Kurt had kissed him. And even though Dave knew it probably meant nothing, it meant everything to him.

People… well, at least one person… loved him. And it felt amazing. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs and giggle like a child. He wanted to storm around and break things and maybe break into song and dance. Having someone care about him was giving him a major high. And he could get that high from others too, right?

Dave raked his fingers through the coal fire of his scalp. He was a bit feverish, but never had he felt so calm.

And then, his cast caught his eye.

In tiny, perfect scrawl, just below his thumb, was one word.

Kurt.

His smile broke the light barrier, if such a thing could exist.


	11. Freedom Hurts So Good

After his Aunt Cheryl told him he could stay with her for a while, he thought things were looking up.

Maybe it wasn't that easy.

Would you believe that he tried? Dave put in good effort, definitely, but Azimio had never really been the forgiving type who would let you change on a whim. When he saw Dave helping move some boxes for Ms. Pillsbury (she was married now, though Dave couldn't remember the new name) he had berated him for being a teacher's pet. Really, teacher's pet. The way he said it was sour, and he immediately put down the rest of the boxes—couldn't leave her hanging—and joined Azimio as he headed down t the gym.

Dave was trying, but society was grinding on him from every direction, and it was difficult. Later, Puckerman stood on the bench in the locker room and told the guys that they should join glee so they could be studs. Dave didn't say anything at first, but Azimio gave him a look, and like a trained monkey, he bashed show choir. And you know what? It hurt like hell when Puck reminded Dave that it was his fault that Kurt was gone. Why had he even brought it up? Well, that's Kurt's spot they were trying to fill. Oh, Kurt…

Damn it. Dave truly wanted to just say "I'll do it, let me"; it was his fault, right? But Azimio might actually kill him. When they threatened Puck with a 10 o'clock slushie facial, he didn't back down, and when the rest of the team pushed Puck down, Dave didn't lay a finger on him, using his broken arm as an excuse. He didn't find out until later about the port-a-potty.

After he left the boys to rip Puck to pieces, he regretted not stepping in. He thought about going back when Ms. Pillsbury caught his elbow.

"Hello, David, could I speak to you in my office for a moment?" she asked softly.

Dave guessed she'd gotten over her fear of touching, and in slight amazement, he followed her.

He sat in the nasty and uncomfortable chair across from the guidance counselor, moving around, trying to find the best way to sit.

Ms. Pillsbury cleared her throat, a small hand politely raised to her lips as she did so.

"David," she began, seeming to choose her words carefully. "How are you?"

"Fine, I guess." What was this about?

"I heard about your expulsion and your accident." Oh.

"Yeah."

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"No."

"Oh." Ms. Pillsbury looked uncomfortable, but she put a smile on her face and nodded.

Dave had to give her something. She looked sad that he didn't. "I guess there's something."

Her smile widened. "Okay."

Dave took a deep breath. He looked at his feet, shuffled, contemplated admitting everything, and then just went with admitting part of it.

"I'm lonely." He breathed out heavily, like saying just those words was the biggest weight on his shoulders. He thought how he might completely come apart if he had come clean about everything.

"Oh, David, you feel lonely? How so? You've got your friends, athletics—"

"It's not all that great," Dave interrupted. "My friends don't know that much about me. They know the main stuff, you know, like that I like cars and football…" Why was it so easy to talk to her? "But they don't know me. That sounds stupid."

"No, not stupid at all." She was so sweet, Ms. Pillsbury. "You feel lonely because you have no one you feel like you can talk to on the level."

"Yeah, yeah, exactly."

"Isn't there anyone you feel like you connect with?" Ms. Pillsbury had become animated, leaning closer and watching Dave closely.

"Uh, yeah, there's someone, but they won't… they aren't available."

"How so?"

Dave started to clam up. "It doesn't matter. Is that all?"

Ms. Pillsbury leaned back, arranging her pencils that she had brushed with her elbows. "David, listen, it seems like it would be a good idea to talk about this. You don't need to talk to me, though don't get me wrong, I'm always here. But maybe you should find someone new to talk to, or perhaps mend your differences with the person you know you can already talk to. I don't mean to sound presumptuous, but it sounds like you had some sort of falling out with them. I won't press it, but I do recommend it."

Dave's cheeks were warm. How had he become so pliant? How had she been able to get information out of him so quickly? He chalked it up to brain damage from the crash.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, David?"

He nodded, not making eye contact.

Ms. Pillsbury smiled brightly. "Here," she said, handing him a grape lollipop from a jar on her desk.

Dave loved grape. It was like she was a mind reader. Suddenly feeling naked and vulnerable, he stood and rushed out of the room, crushing the lollipop in his right hand. He was thinking about what she had said, about making amends with Kurt. But how could he, when he was still stuck?

Oh, it was simple, then.

He had to get un-stuck.

He had to be himself.

This was crazy! He must have brain damage after all. But before he really thinks about it too much, he's looking for Azimio. He finds him walking in from outside with three other football guys.

Perfect.

Dave walks right in front of him. The boys stop, smirking and acknowledging each other as friends do.

"'Sup, Karofksy?"

"Hey, yeah. So I've decided that you're not going to pick on gay kids anymore."

Azimio stares at him, open mouthed. "What the hell did you just say to me?"

"Leave gays alone. It's not cool to pick on them for their sexuality when they can't control it. It would like dissing you for your race, dude."

Again, Azimio is speechless. Unfortunately, it was only temporary. "You are not telling me you're siding with the homos."

Dave stood his ground. "Don't say homos. It's disrespectful." Dave felt that high coming back, that high he got from doing right by others.

"Are you for serious? Dude, what the hell's going on with you? You hit your head too hard?"

"I think I'm starting to get a clearer picture, actually."

"What are you going on about? Is this because of the Hummel kid?"

"Yes, actually. Don't ever touch him again."

"Dude—"

"Don't slushie him, don't push him, don't even talk to him. Leave. Him. Alone."

"What the hell, man? What, are you into him or something?" Azimio laughed; that was, he laughed until he saw Dave's expression grow ruddy. "Dude, what the fuck!"

"I see you figured it out then, Azimio. That's right. I'M GAY."

Azimio punched him in the mouth. Hard. But Dave was laughing. The minute he'd told someone, he'd felt amazing. He didn't even feel the swelling of his cheek, and he hardly felt it as the other boys started kicking him. But that was a lie. He could feel them kicking him. It hurt.

"Hey! What's going on!" It was Mr. Schuester to the rescue. He seemed to pop up when necessary. Lucky Dave.

Azimio and the three other boys book it down the hall, leaving Dave bleeding. Mr. Schuester was screaming after the boys, and then screaming for the nurse.

((((

Dave had come clean, and had taken the beating. This time. Next time anyone said any shit about Kurt, or called Dave a fag or anything, he would kick some ass. But he was too happy to be free to care about them right now. Nothing new was broken, the nurse said, though she mentioned that he should go see his family doctor just in case.

He'd told Mr. Schue everything. Everything. Mr. Schue even drove him to his aunt's house. He barely heard the Spanish teacher going on about pressing charges. Right now, all he wanted was to figure out how to bring Kurt back into his life.

He fell asleep comfortably (relatively, anyway) for the first time in weeks.


	12. Sectionals

So it felt natural for Dave to sneak in to see the Glee kids perform at sectionals. He wanted to see Kurt, and because he wasn't sure he'd even know where to start looking at Dalton, and because he wasn't sure they'd even let him in, he figured this was the only way. He got a chair closer to the back, but then decided to sit closer to the front after all. He hadn't brought his letterman, and he figured no one would recognize him, or be looking for him there.

The first group who performed was called the Hipsters. Dave laughed at the name. It was funny in a cute 'grandma-tripped-but-she's-okay' kind of way. Their performance was pretty good, and Dave was surprised when he recognized the one man singing as the owner and manager of the GasGo. Apparently you don't have to be just one thing after all.

Next were the Warblers, and Dave thought he might faint. He tried to be cool, but he saw Kurt and his mind just exploded.

But then he realized: Kurt didn't look like Kurt. He looked like all the rest of him. What had they done to him? Where had his originality gone? He was upset, but he still saw a spark in Kurt's eyes when he was singing back up for "Hey, Soul Sister".

Dave wanted to hear Kurt do the solo, because it might just kill him to hear that beautiful voice singing out again. But some blonde kid got it. Not really Dave's type.

Did he really just think that?

He saw Kurt scanning the crowd, and then lock eyes with Rachel Berry. She was trying to get him to smile, and he did, a bit.

Then it happened. Kurt saw Dave, did a small double take, and then smiled. A genuine smile, that reached way across his face, turning the bright star he was into a supernova. Dave smiled like a little girl with a pony. He couldn't help it. Kurt was just too delicious. And suddenly he looked so different than all the Dalton boys, and it could be Dave's mind playing tricks, but it could be that Kurt Hummel is the most beautiful boy Dave's ever seen, and he missed him terribly.

The Warblers finished their song and exited backstage. Dave immediately missed them, and didn't care so much as the New Directions headed back to the green room to get ready.

When the Warblers came back out and sat in the rows designated for them, Kurt took a detour and came over to Dave, much to his happy surprise.

"David."

His heart might just burst from that happiness. "Kurt…"

Kurt smiled. "I heard the news."

"What's that?"

"You outed yourself at school, huh?"

"Yeah, I figure, since Finn probably told most people, I could just tell the rest myself."

Kurt looked confused, then shocked. "You think—you think Finn—oops."

"Oops?" What?

"Finn didn't tell anyone. I guess I forgot to mention that. I told him not to, and he swore he wouldn't."

Dave's face fell. "What? Are you telling me I could've…" He dropped his head and groaned, which made Kurt giggle.

"Hey, it's out of the way, and to be honest, I bet most people are going to be fine with it. You have me, after all, and I know the kids in Glee will love you if you talk to them…" Kurt stopped, as if just remembering that he was a Warbler now. "Ah. I'll talk to them for you."

Dave sighed. "I guess it's for the best. And you know what? It felt fantastic letting it out. I know I'm gonna get my fair and deserved amount of slushies though."

"You don't deserve them—"

"Totally do. I gave enough out, I think I've earned them back."

Kurt laughed and leaned in like he was about to hug Dave, but then pulled back.

"I'll talk to you later, okay? I need to go sit with the other guys. But hey, maybe, give me a call, we'll… we'll hang out?" It was a question, and Dave smiled, knowing Kurt was a bit anxious for their reconnection as well.

"That would be perfect," he practically purred to the smaller boy, wraggling his eyebrows and making Kurt laugh again.

"Bye for now."

"Bye."

The minute Kurt turned around, Dave wanted to spin and sing and dance and Kurt wanted to hang out again yes yes yes… but he kept his cool.

When the New Directions finished their set, even Dave was clapping. Mike and Brittany had taken the show. He looked over at Kurt and saw him standing and clapping, smiling brightly. Dave took after and stood, starting a standing ovation with Kurt.

But Dave was having trouble focusing.

Kurt Kurt Kurt.

Yesssss.


	13. Knowing You're Loved

"Davy, dinner's ready!" his Aunt Cheryl called up to him.

"Alright, I'm on my way down!" Dave had been set up in the guest room his mother usually stayed in when she needed to get away from his father. The thought was a sour one; he missed his mother, but she hadn't even contacted him after a week with his aunt. He hadn't thought about his father too much since he'd left, except that his father had probably thrown away the cake topper that he'd taken from Kurt. New fire surged in his cheeks. He stopped in the bathroom to splash some water on his face before he descended the stairs.

"Hey, honey," his aunt said with a broad smile. "I made pot roast."

"Mmm, I knew it would be something delicious. The smell's been tempting me for the better part of an hour."

Cheryl laughed and shook her head. She had a stack of plates in her hand, and Dave took some and started setting them out. Cheryl had a pretty large family. Her husband Tony was independently wealthy from some invention called the Magic Snap. Dave didn't know too much about it—it had something to do with jeans—but it brought in a good amount of money for the couple and their five kids. The table had eight spots, so it was fine that Dave was staying.

He was setting up silverware when the two older children came in and helped him.

"Hey Madeline," Dave said, giving her his best attempt at a charming smile.

"Hey Davy!" Madeline had just turned eleven, and she normally had plenty to say, but she seemed pretty mellow as she set the spoons on the right sides of the plates. "Did you see the picture I drew today in art class?"

"Davy!" yelled Nick before he could answer, causing Dave to laugh as Madeline scowled at the nine year old. "Sit by me tonight!"

"Okay, champ. Hey Maddie, why don't you show me your picture after dinner?"

"Alright," she said, the smile returning to her face.

The forks were out, as well as the knives, and the three other children—Richie, who was eight, Jason, six, and Glory, four—had been set up at their places by Cheryl and Tony.

Dinner was delicious, just as Dave had suspected. The kids were rowdy, but much to Cheryl and Tony's surprise and pleasure, Dave had a knack for telling silly stories to keep the kids from fighting. By the end of the meal, all trivial arguments between the children had been resolved, and everyone was laughing. The kids were excused from the table and Dave helped put away the leftover green beans and potatoes and clean up the dishes. When he started to wash them, Cheryl pulled him away from the sink with a smile.

"You've done enough, thank you," she said, her eyes sparkling as she filled the sink with hot water and soap. She nodded toward the living room where the kids were already raising another ruckus. "You can stay as long as you like."

Dave laughed and dried some dishes before Cheryl stopped him again.

"I'm okay, Davy, why don't you go talk to Tony? He's up in his study. He's been meaning to have a chat with you anyway, and now's as good a time as any." She caught Dave's worried look and shook her head, unsettling some soap bubbles that had clung in her bangs. "You've nothing to worry about. He just wants to know how you're doing."

Dave nodded and patted his aunt's shoulder before scooting up the stairs to Tony's study. He knocked on the open door softly, seeing the other man on the phone, and Tony waved him in and motioned for him to have a seat.

"Okay, yep, uh huh. Yep. Yep. Okay, I… okay, yeah. Alright, we'll talk about it later, alright? Gotta go for now, I'll give you a ring back later. Okay? Okay, talk to you soon, Chuck."

Dave waited patiently as Tony hung up his phone.

"Sorry about that, some issue with packaging at the warehouse."

"No, don't apologize," Dave replied.

"Alright. So, what's up, Davy Jones?" Tony had always called him that, and Dave actually liked it. It made him seem tough.

"I, uh, I was sent here."

"Ooh, sent here, huh? By my charming and not-so-subtle wife?" Tony laughed.

Dave relaxed. "She said you wanted to talk to me."

"Yeah, yeah I do. It's nothing big, not trying to get all up in your stuff, or whatever you kids say. It's just, I thought I should have an idea of what's going on with you. It's my house after all, I feel I should know any outstanding details that could affect my little empire here."

"Oh, I'm not really in trouble or anything, not, like, with the cops. Or anything."

"Well, that's good. Cheryl just told me some stuff was going down. Or whatever you kids say. She wasn't very specific."

Dave was thankful, but felt he should be fair to the man who was letting him stay in his home. He cleared his throat. "My pops kicked me out of the house."

Tony tilted his head to the side. "What would make him do something like that?"

Dave looked down, but continued. "He found out something about me."

Tony leaned in. "Like what? You an alien?"

"No," Dave said, and he couldn't help but smile a bit. "He found out I… that I like…"

"Guys?" Tony finished for him.

Dave's head shot up, his eyes turned in confusion. "How'd you know?"

"Well, you did give me the lead up. But I don't know, I don't want to seem like a jerk, but I suspected. Just a bit."

"What?" Dave asked, confused.

"Well," Tony continued, "when we went to your middle school graduation, you were talking to that one kid you hang out with, and you did this thing where you kept looking at his lips. I've seen girls do that to me before. Not that I think you," Tony reassured, "are a girl. Just, it's a tell tale sign of attraction or something."

Dave was embarrassed. He didn't remember doing that, but if someone could see that, how had no one known before?

"Don't get all bent out of shape, kiddo. I read my wife's magazines. She leaves them in the bathroom, and I get bored easily."

"No, it's okay."

"Well, Davy Jones, I want you to know that you are positively safe in this here castle. I don't tolerate bullying of any type. We're a safe haven."

Dave knew that his aunt and uncle took his mother in fairly frequently, and was happy that such hospitality had been extended to him as well. "Thanks, Uncle Tony."

Tony stood, went over to Dave, pulled him up and shook his hand, then hugged him. "You're a good kid. And pardon me saying, but your Pops is kind of an idiot messing with you and your mom. I hope someday we can just be rid of him. Things would be better."

Dave nodded. He chatted with his uncle a bit longer, explaining some lingo that "kids today" used, and after a while headed back to his guest room. He felt emotionally and physically exhausted and sprawled out on his back, staring at the ceiling. He reached over to the nightstand to check the time on his cell phone when he saw that he'd gotten a text message.

He opened it and a fresh smile broke out on his face when he read it:

**Hey Dave. I'll be home tomorrow for the weekend. Lunch at Palermo's? -Kurt**

Dave's fingers shook with anticipation as he typed his reply:

**Lunch sounds great. See you around 12:30? –Dave**

A beep, and a brief pause:

**Looking forward to it. –Kurt**

Dave put his head back and sighed happily. It could be that he had some luck after all. He had great people looking out for him, and a wonderful friend who put up with him even after all he'd done. Dave saw that it was already after nine, and felt no problem slipping into a comfortable sleep, thinking about tomorrow, a tomorrow where things were better.


	14. Breadsticks, Not Breadstix

Palermo's wasn't crowded, oddly enough. The few times Dave had been there, he'd had to wait for a table. It felt pleasant, it felt right, that there was space to breathe. Dave was seated at a table near the back while he waited for Kurt. The air all around his table smelled like hot tomato sauce, and it was an altogether agreeable aroma. His stomach rumbled gently and he made a pyramid out of the half & half he got from a little bowl next to the salt and pepper shakers.

He was placing sugar packets along the sides when a hand touched his arm, causing him to jump slightly and knock the whole structure down. He turned to look up into the beautiful face he'd been dreaming about.

"Hey," said Kurt, a charming smile lacing his look together.

"Hi, Kurt," replied Dave, feeling his cheeks grow hot.

Kurt sat in the other seat, facing Dave. He folded his hands on the table and smiled.

Dave felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. He wasn't worried about people walking in on them—he honestly could care less what they think; he wasn't concerned that he'd make Kurt hate him even more; no, he was uncomfortable because a hot mass of feeling shot from Kurt's smile right into the base of Dave's stomach and right along down to his groin. He shuddered lightly and rearranged himself and tried to think of things that would allow him to eat a meal with Kurt without embarrassment.

Golf. Rabbits. Checkers. Scarves. Kurt was wearing a scarf, a blue one that made his eyes sparkle—no! French fries. Pens. Kurt, Kurt's light blue shirt… ugh…

It wasn't easy, but eventually, throughout their conversation, Dave cooled off a bit, and was really enjoying himself.

"..and it's not like I don't miss Glee, but I'm having a good time at Dalton."

"Cool," Dave replied, not sure how much of the conversation he had missed. "I, uh… like your shirt." He licked his lips nervously and took a sip of his ice water.

"Thanks," Kurt beamed. "Maybe you have good taste after all. It's Dolce & Gabbana. The buttons feel more casual, and it is lunch after all, but there's always time for fashion. Blaine got it for me for Christmas."

Dave had been nodding along, but pulled back into himself slightly at the mention of Blaine. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel jealous, but Kurt had been clear—they were friends.

"That's cool," Dave said fairly quietly.

Kurt gave him an odd look, but the waiter appeared then with their meals. Kurt got a plate of herb and lemon chicken spaghetti with salad, and Dave had a large plate of beef ravioli. The duo shared a basket of breadsticks. Dave liked them a lot; he didn't care all that much for Breadstix. Truth be told, he didn't have any friends that were speaking to him now, but before, none of them really went to the popular restaurant, and it was molded in his mind that it was a place to be lonely. He knew that sounded sad, but he didn't care, because he was trying to be honest with himself. And anyway, Kurt was here with him at Palermo's, and he would always attach the good feelings he got from Kurt with the spicy fragrance of this Italiano place. That was enough for him to think it was better.

"Dave?"

His head shot up. He'd been talking to himself in his own mind and had totally spaced.

"Yeah?"

"You okay? You were just staring at your water and then you got this creepy little smile on your face."

"Sorry," he said. "I remembered something funny that had happened earlier."

Kurt let it go. They finished up their meal in relative, awkward silence.

When the bill came, Kurt reached for it, but Dave snatched it up first. "Uh uh, I've got this."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "We could split it, you know."

Dave shook his head. "No, I can cover it."

"Look, I'm not saying you can't, but that makes it sound like this is a date."

Dave knew that. That had been his intention all along. But Kurt was giving him a look that clearly said "this better not be a date", and Dave shrugged, a little embarrassed as he set the check down.

They split it and Dave left a ten dollar bill under his water glass for the tip.

"That's generous of you," Kurt motioned with his hand.

"It's almost Christmas," came Dave's simple reply.

Kurt nodded, and his eyes fell from Dave's. Dave saw a small smile curve into his cheeks as they left the restaurant, and the awkward exchange, behind them.


	15. Gucky

(I don't own any of these things, you guys know that right? Be cool, don't Sue.)

So it hadn't been a date, and Kurt talked about Blaine for a good portion of it, or at least, things that had a connection to Blaine. But Dave wasn't going to give up so easily, not after all he'd been through. He'd been so quick to shield his heart because of his surroundings that it nearly killed him to appear emotionally vulnerable. But maybe that was the point. When Dave had kissed Kurt that fateful day back in the locker room, he'd felt such a weight lifted, at least for that one moment, before reality crashed back down on him in the form of cold rejection. He'd been honest with himself, but more importantly, he'd let someone else see his soft underbelly. He'd exposed his heart fully knowing the risk. Maybe that was what it was about.

He'd come a long way, Kurt had said so.

And that's why Dave wanted to get Kurt a gift.

He wasn't any good at this sort of thing. He was sitting in the guest room playing Uno with Madeline, Nick and Richie, trying to think of something that Kurt would like.

He had such different tastes.

And Dave knew he couldn't get him a shirt, because Blaine had already done that. Plus, Dave wasn't sure exactly what size Kurt was, and it bothered him more than a little that Blaine did.

"I'm gonna get a drink, be right back, guys," he said to his cousins, heading to the bathroom.

He took the glass from the sink edge, rinsed it and filled it with tap water. He drained the glass and was filling it again when the stack of magazines by the towel rack caught his eye.

They were his Aunt Cheryl's magazines. The top one was the latest edition of Harper's Bazaar.

Dave sat on the edge of the tub and leafed through it to get some ideas. Just a few pages in, he came across an advertisement for Gucci.

"Gucky?" he said outloud.

"Goo-chee," came his aunt's voice from the door. He started, the magazine falling to the floor. Why was he so jumpy lately?

"What?"

"It's Gucci, not Gucky. I'm sorry, the door was open, just coming in for an ibuprofen, bit of a headache. Anyway, why are you looking at Gucci stuff?"

"What? I wasn't…"

"Davy, honey, what did we tell you? Judgment isn't passed in this house. If you want to wear designer clothes, I say go for it."

"It's not for me, actually. I was trying to think of a Christmas present."

"Ooh, for who?" his aunt smirked, wraggling her eyebrows. "I like fancy gifts, in case you didn't know."

Dave laughed. "I'll keep that in mind. But no, for someone I'm interested in."

"Ooh," she said again, resting her hands on her hips. "Going all out, huh?"

"He appreciates the finer things," Dave said. He then proceeded to look away, realizing he'd admitted the gift was for a boy.

"That must be why he hangs out with you," his aunt replied. "How much finer can you get?" She turned and left, the bottle of ibuprofen folded in her left hand.

Dave was blushing. He did a lot of that lately, too.

Later, after his cousins were asleep, he went on his laptop and looked around the Gucci website. One particular item caught his eye. It was pretty expensive, but Dave had a couple hundred in his bank account, and knew he'd be able to afford it. He had it sent rush delivery.

He didn't want to wait, but that's a game in which he was an unfortunate participant.

He hoped it would be worth the wait.


	16. All Through the House

The day before Christmas, Dave sat twitching on his aunt and uncle's sofa, his hands in his lap and holding a box. He had shaved and made sure he looked presentable; he even added a touch of his aunt's make up under his eyes just to take away the impression that he hadn't been sleeping out of nervousness. His uncle had taken him shopping and had gotten him a new button-up. It was dark grey and black striped, and Dave had buttoned it all the way up except for the last button, and even had the cuffs done up. His aunt had done that when he started to roll up his sleeves; she had scolded him, actually, and Dave had to admit he didn't mind having her care so much after all, because he knew he looked good in his black slacks and shiny black shoes.

At least, three hours ago, he thought he looked good. Now, as he was waiting on their couch, he thought he looked horrendous.

"Davy, can you chill out? You're giving me the jitters," Uncle Tony said, rubbing his shoulders and shivering dramatically. For the sake of his loving family, Dave tried his best to calm down.

But it was difficult, since Kurt was coming over.

His aunt had suggested it, actually. They have three celebrations of Christmas—there's the small family-oriented affair on Christmas, the Christmas Eve party with a few guests, and the official household holiday party where they invite people from the Magic Snap factory and neighbors and the like. Last night, the holiday party had been a success. Dave had been introduced to Chuck, Tony's vice president, and had been offered a job on the floor, which he had gladly accepted. He knew a few things for certain about himself, and one of them was that he had no trouble lifting 60 pound boxes. He'd met other people there who inquired what he intended to do after he graduated. He hadn't been thinking too much about that, but was glad that the subject wasn't pushed. He told everyone he'd like to be a coach and maybe a teacher—maybe even a French teacher. This surprised people, but in a pleasant way, and the night went down without a hitch.

The Christmas Eve party was tonight, and since Dave hadn't invited Kurt to last night's affair out of fear that he'd say no, she told him he should consider doing so for this evening.

Even though it was such short notice, Kurt said that he'd like to see him, and that since he was celebrating Christmas Day with his father and Mercedes's family, he was free on Christmas Eve, and no, it wasn't any trouble, no, Dave, I want to come, I'll be there, see you then.

Though Kurt had been reassuring of the fact, Dave still worried. He looked down at the box he was holding. He had wrapped it himself and was pleased that it looked like a department store number and not like a massive ball of crinkled paper and tape like he expected it would be. He turned it over in his hands, knowing Kurt should love it but still uncertain of himself.

He was sweating and twitching again.

"Davy Jones! Control yourself, really, what are you on, man? Or, whatever you kids say…"

"Davy, it's going to be fine, he'll love it, I'm sure. Besides, you put a lot of thought into it, and that counts for something," his aunt reassured him.

"But you can't wear thoughts-that-count, that doesn't make them stylish…"

"Trust me, Davy, he'll like it."

Dave did his best to settle, and as he watched Glory and Jason run around, he started to, until he heard the doorbell and let out a little squeak that should have been super manly but sounded like a baby's hiccup. Dave was twitching yet again as he stood, adjusted his slacks, set the gift on the end table and went to answer the door.

What he saw when he opened it was Kurt in a deep red jacket with gold buttons over a dark green v-neck and dark grey pants that made Dave think of his grandfather's. He also had on the knee high black boots that Dave had seen him wear before, and though all these things together would be ridiculous on anyone else, Kurt made them work. Dave smiled broadly, all creases running from his face.

"Hey," Kurt said, dimples hemmed with pink from the cold.

"Hey, Kurt," Dave replied, but he didn't move; he was just looking at Kurt for a while.

"Davy, let him in!" came a sharp, small whisper from his aunt. Dave rattled and became alert once more as he stepped back and made a sweep with his hand, allowing Kurt passage. Kurt shook his head, a smile still on his face, as he came in and wiped his feet on the mat.

Dave did his best to appear to be a gentleman and took Kurt's coat, carefully hanging it up by the tag and not the neck, watching Kurt's face show relief, if just for a brief moment, and then hung up Kurt's bag on the next hook.

Cheryl had disappeared back into the living room somewhere, leaving Dave and Kurt to talk alone for a moment. Dave cleared his throat and rocked back on his feet.

"You look really nice, Kurt."

"You look pretty sharp yourself, David."

There was a comfortable exchange, and then Dave showed Kurt to the living room. He sat Kurt down on one side of the loveseat and then sat next to him. He saw then that Kurt had a small box in his hand. Kurt saw him looking. "It's a gift for you. Oh, and I brought cookies for the kids, they're in my bag."

"That wasn't necessary, hun! How charming are YOU!" Dave's aunt gushed.

"Aunt Cheryl!" Dave practically hissed. Uncle Tony appeared from the adjoining room and pulled his wife back in to help him set up for dinner.

Dave was blushing, but Kurt laughed. "Your aunt is a sweetheart."

Dave nodded. "She's one of the best things that ever happened to me."

Kurt beamed. "It's good to have that kind of relationship with someone. I'm glad you have her watching out for you."

They sat there looking at each other for a bit before Dave remembered his gift. "Oh!" He turned around and plucked the gift from the end table. "I got you a gift, too."

Kurt's face lit up. "You didn't have to do that," he said, bashfully, and Dave wanted to reach out and caress his cheek, but refrained.

"You didn't have to get me anything either, you know."

"Well, it's Christmas, and I thought of you. So here we are." Kurt reached out, his small box in hand, toward Dave, but Dave shook his head.

"Is it alright if I give you mine first?"

Kurt nodded, setting his small box on the table on his side.

As soon as the gift left Dave's hands, he felt himself start to panic again. What if he hated it? What if he already had it? Oh my God… but Kurt was giving him a cheeky grin as he carefully undid the ribbon and peeled back the paper. Inside was a nondescript white cardboard box. Dave saw Kurt suck in his breath as he lifted up the lid.

Kurt's face immediately lit up. "This is Gucci…" he said softly, reaching in to touch the signature web of the Gucci scarf. It had five stripes of color; grey, green, red, green, grey. It was simple, but it was made from wool and silk and felt amazing when Dave had touched it.

Kurt looked like he was going to cry. Dave panicked. "What's wrong? I'm sorry if you—"

"No, no," Kurt stopped him. "It's just, I love it, but it's so expensive—"

"No, I didn't mind, I wanted to get you something you like—"

"Dave, it's marvelous, it even matches my outfit…" they'd kept interrupting each other, back and forth. "Can I try it on now?" he asked softly.

"Of course," Dave assured him. As Kurt pulled it carefully from the box, a piece of paper fell out onto the loveseat between them. Kurt looped the scarf around his neck and picked up the paper. It was a note that Dave had composed just for this occasion. It read:

*Dear Kurt:

I'm so lucky to know you. You're the glue that holds my world together, the encyclopedia that helps it make sense. I don't know where I'd be without you helping me through this life. I hope someday I will be able to adequately relay that to you. I'm sorry for all I've done to hurt you, and I want you to know that there's no one I'd rather spend this day with than you. You mean so much to me.

Love, Dave*

Dave was remembering how his Uncle had helped him with the wording when he felt two slender arms around his neck and a warm head on his shoulder. He put his arms around Kurt and held him, inhaling his pepperminty scent. The hug lasted too short in Dave's opinion, but it was the most comforting and loving hug he'd ever gotten from someone outside his family, and his skin felt tingly with the contact.

Kurt leaned back, his face as radiant as ever, if not more so. But there was a look in his eyes that made Dave nervous all over again. "What is it?"

"I don't feel like my gift is good enough, now," Kurt said rather sheepishly. "I have major gift-giving anxieties."

Dave smiled warmly at the smaller boy. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"I know, but Gucci…"

Dave reached over and gently squeezed Kurt's hand. Kurt nodded to himself more than anything and handed Dave the small box.

Dave carefully peeled back the paper and gasped at what he saw.

It was a Columbus Blue Jackets hockey puck, and he recognized the scrawl of an autograph.

"Is… is that a Rick Nash autograph?"

Kurt gave a quick nod and was suddenly wrapped inside the warm arms of a very happy Dave. "He's my favorite Blue Jacket, Kurt!"

"I remember you saying that once when we were "studying for French"," Kurt said once Dave released him. "One of the guys at my dad's shop knows some people."

Dave hugged Kurt again, and Kurt hugged him back, both so full of glee that neither saw Dave's aunt and uncle peaking in and then giving each other a small high five before retreating once more.

They broke apart, but were sitting by each other, and their arms were touching as they admired their gifts.

Cheryl called them in for dinner a short time later. Uncle Tony had made room for another place at the table, and Dave and Kurt laughed and joked with the whole family as they ate the ham dinner. Kurt kept giving Dave these glances through his eyelashes, which was slowly driving Dave crazy with the desire to touch him again.

The meal was delicious, and Cheryl refused the help of both Dave and Kurt in regards to the clean up. As they were leaving, they heard her drag Tony back in to help her, followed by Tony's groan.

Everyone then went to what Tony liked to call the media room, which was basically another living room, but with a sound system and a 42" no-glare high-definition television. Four of the kids laid out pillows, blankets and stuffed animals on the floor, Uncle Tony and Aunt Cheryl took the couch with Glory nodding off between them, and Dave and Kurt got the loveseat again.

They all watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas with laughter and elevated spirits. During the feature, Kurt leaned over. "You'd be the Grinch if it weren't for me," he said quietly, with a sparkle in his eye.

"So does that make you Cindy Lou Who, then?"

Kurt giggled and poked Dave in the ribs and nestled back against Dave. Dave's arm, with a mind of its own, lifted up. Kurt slid back comfortably to Dave's side, and didn't protest when Dave gently set his arm around the singer. They stayed like that for the rest of the feature.

The movie ended, and Kurt said he had to go. After giving Cheryl the tin of cookies and a hug, and then getting a hug from Uncle Tony with much surprise, Dave offered to walk Kurt out. They walked slowly down the front walk to Kurt's car.

"I had a great time," Kurt said to Dave, bumping into his side with his shoulder.

"I'm glad," Dave said, bumping him back. "I had fun."

"Me too. Thanks again for the scarf," Kurt ventured, running his fingers along the material as he said so.

"Thanks for the puck, such a cool gift."

They reached Kurt's car, and Kurt turned and smiled at Dave. He reached out and hugged Dave again. Dave, a little taller, hugged back, pulling Kurt into him. They stayed there for a long time. Dave finally let him go, however reluctantly. Kurt stepped back and turned to get into his vehicle. "Have a merry Christmas, David Karofsky."

"You too, Kurt Hummel."

As Kurt drove off, Dave waved, and once the car was around the corner, he leapt up in the air and spun around in the falling darkness.

Had there ever been a time he'd been happier?


End file.
